


We All Fall Down

by SilverLynxx



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Accidents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gift Fic, Hospitalization, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Blood, Prize Fic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24788809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: It was with burgeoning apprehension Phineas realises, for the second time in his life, that the smallest action could bring his circus tumbling into deathly chaos.
Relationships: P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	We All Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowleysheiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowleysheiress/gifts).



> This fic is so horrendously and painfully overdue and I'm incredibly sorry you've had to wait so long for it! But I didn't for one moment ever forget about it, so I hope, even though your interests may have drifted, that you can still enjoy this little bit of angst. I hope it comes somewhat close to your expectations for hurt!Phin <3

It was with burgeoning apprehension Phineas realises, for the second time in his life, that the smallest action could bring his circus tumbling into deathly chaos. 

He doesn’t see where it comes from, doesn’t know if it was accompanied by vitriol or hateful aspersions masked by the cheers of the crowd, doesn’t know if it was an action spurred by enmity or intoxication. All he sees is the bottle arch high into the air, the glass reflecting the sheen of the spotlights as it spiralled, before plummeting back down into the ring. 

It strikes one of the elephants, and from there chaos takes hold. 

Like toppling dominoes the effect ripples through the performers. The elephant, the herd matriarch and leading female, trumpets in pain and panic, alarming the other creatures who swing their trunks in agitation, rearing up and stumbling back into the acrobatic hoops which send them crashing to the ground. The troupe break away from their places with shouts of fear, jugglers dropping their skillets and dancers pulling each other out the way of the stampeding giants. 

Phineas himself is forced from his mark before he can do anything, pivoting and jumping backwards as one of the elephants sends its wooden platform careening across the centre ring. 

“MARSHALL. MARSHALL GET YOUR HANDLERS IN HERE!” Phineas bellows over the noise. “The audience need to stay in their seats!” he orders to the ushers who rush into the stands, trying to mitigate the growing distress in the crowd. He sees a glimpse of red and gold out of the corner of his eye; Phillip dashing in with the handlers in tow before he splits off to round up the stray dancers who have gotten separated and cut off in the madness.

Phineas takes a breath, another order on the tip of his tongue, but he fails to get it out before the air is knocked from his lungs and he staggers forward with a grunt, biting down a curse as pain blooms across his back. He hears a litany of cries, people calling his name. He doesn’t bother turning to see who had knocked into him with such force, instead he regains his footing and tries to make sense of what’s happening around him. 

More orders; get the acrobats off the ropes, tie down the weights, get all unessential crew off the floor, turn up the lights up, why the hell have the elephants not been herded out of here yet?! 

People reach for him. He hears Lettie call out his name, voice wracked with emotion, but he brushes her off; WD, too, when he tries to catch Phineas’ arm. He has to get things under control, he can apologise later. 

“ _Phineas.”_

It’s Phillip’s panicked voice cutting through the noise which finally makes him hesitate. Phillip hadn’t been scared before; Phillip wasn’t meant to be scared now. Something was wrong. 

Phillip grabs him, finally stopping Phineas in his tracks. That’s when he realises with a start that the lights hadn’t been dimmed at all, and it wasn’t the rush of adrenaline making things blurry. “Phil?” He croaks, stumbling, confused. He realises it’s tears, wet and hot and streaking down his face, that’s making the world swim. Fear grips him when he realises his vision is getting darker still. “Wha- What’s happening?”

“Phineas, oh God. Phineas you’ve been stabbed, Phineas, _Phin stay with me-”_

Silence.

* * *

When Phineas wakes up it’s with agonising pain. He gasps with a rush of shock, eyes screwing shut as his breath comes in panicked little flutters. Every rise and fall of his chest sends a terrible, torturous agony ricocheting through his flesh and muscle before it burrows deep into his lungs. It _burns_ , like the devil himself is branding Phineas’ core with every breath.

“Phil-Phil-Phil-” he rasps in a frightened mantra. His head is muddled with pain; where was he? What happened? He remembered Phillip. Where was he? Where was Phillip? He groans in pain, reality starting to detach and fray in the dark hollow of his mind. He knows he’s falling away, slipping back into oblivion. The pain is so intense, so wholly consuming, that Phineas doesn’t care, he longs for it to end.

He can’t quite make sense of the fading desperate cries for a doctor before everything is lost to him again. 

* * *

It hurts, it hurts so much, but this time when Phineas comes to it’s more with a deep-seated exhaustion in his bones rather than the crippling agony from before. Each breath brings a fresh stab of pain, but it’s manageable. Just.

He manages to wrest open his eyes, squinting in the meagre light after being in darkness for so long. There’s deep shadows and glimmers of soft warm light blurring together, flickering soft and slow. Candle light. Exhaling through his nose, Phineas blinks again, trying to distinguish what’s around him. Indeterminate blurs slowly start to sharpen until he can finally make sense of his surroundings, despite the lingering soft, hazy edges. 

A hospital ward, and there, hunched over his bedside, elbows propped on the bed with his forehead pressed into his clenched hands as if in prayer, is Phillip. He’s a bedraggled mess, dressed in creased and unchanged clothes with strands of hair falling loose from it’s regular impeccable style. His eyes are wet and red, and the tip of his nose is tinged pink from suppressing more than the few tears which have welled up and managed to fall.

“You look terrible,” Phineas rasps, and Phillip jumps, breath catching in his throat.

He doesn’t even acknowledge Phineas’ jibe, just stares wide-eyed with a breathless utterance of _'Phineas'._

He can easily read the tension in Phillip’s body, the restraint warring with the yearning in his eyes. He wants so badly to reach out, to hold him, kiss him, just like Phineas himself wanted to do in return.

With a noticeable tremble, Phillip reaches out and slowly takes Phineas’ hand in first one, then both of his own. Despite the ache in his body, he smiles encouragingly as Phillip brings the back of Phineas’ hand to his cheek. He can feel the lingering wetness of Phillip’s tears, but the warmth and softness of his skin floods Phineas with comfort. 

“What’s the verdict, Dr Carlyle?” Phineas queries, voice quiet and rough. 

“You’re an intolerable egotist and a goddamn lucky man; incurable, I'm afraid,” Phillip breathes with a wet smile. It falters when Phineas laughs, triggering a coughing fit which sends fire across his chest and leaves him gasping for breath. Phillip makes a noise of distress, but Phineas keeps their hands locked in a tight grip, stopping Philliip from running to fetch help. He didn’t want to be left alone.

The fit thankfully abates as quickly as it had come, leaving Phineas with tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and breath ragged and wet.

“What happened?” he asks hoarsely after a tense beat, turning his head into the pillow so he can better see Phillip. “Everything hurts.” 

Phillip’s lips press into a tight line and he doesn’t answer. He takes a cloth from the bedside table and gently dabs Phineas’ forehead and face, clearing away the sweat he hadn’t realised had gathered there and the tear tracks from his cheeks. It passes over his lips and chin, wiping away the spittle of blood that Phineas couldn't see.

“Was it serious?” Phineas tries instead. When Phillip’s eyes close at the question, Phineas for the first time feels the visceral quiver of mortality in his breast. “Phil…” he coaxes gently.

Phillip sucks in a breath, dropping the cloth and bringing Phineas’ knuckles to his lips.

“You were hit by one of Deng Yan’s knives,” he informs him at last, voice low and forcefully even. “We didn’t know how badly you were hurt until I was finally able to get here after getting everything back under control at the circus. The only thing the nurse would tell me was that you’d been taken in for immediate surgery.”

“Surgery?” Phineas repeats with trepidation. How serious had it truly been?

“The blade pierced your lung. You were...you-” Phillip clears his throat, trying to force away the emotions knotting there. “-You were at risk of drowning in your own blood unless they operated.”

That would explain a great many things; the constant drone of agony thrumming through every cell, the constant threat of unconsciousness which slowed and jabbed at his mind, the constant fiery burn searing his lungs. 

“I’m still here,” he murmurs, as much of a consolation to himself as it is for Phillip.

“You are,” Phillip agrees, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, relief welling up in a dry sob. “You are.”

* * *

“We should have implemented this months ago,” Phillip remarks, hands on his hips with his head tilted back.

They stand side by side, watching O’Malley hammer the last of their ‘No Alcohol Permitted’ signs into the vertical beams, unable to be missed by anyone making their way towards and into the circus.

Phineas chuckles, looking almost back to health if one ignored the bags under his eyes and the way he leant ever so subtly against Phillip for support. 

“I never thought you’d be the one leading the prohibition resurgence,” he teases, and Phillip huffs an amused breath. 

“I’m sure stranger things have happened,” he returns easily, giving Phineas the lightest nudge towards the entrance. Their strides are equally slow and perfectly paced with one another, and no one comments or bats an eye at how closely they walk side by side or how Phineas leans a little too heavily on his cane. 

They stop at the ringside, taking the time to observe the rehearsals taking place in the centre. The circus feels almost unaffected by the incident only a few weeks before, like it had existed in another pocket in time and space.

“How is our impervious Deng Yan getting on?” Phineas asks.

“Hm?” Phillip looks from the dancers to Phineas. “Oh, much better. She’s back to practicing every day now, and I say she’s got her confidence back. She even threw a warning blade at Charles for his cheek the other day.”

Phineas hums. “I did wonder where that hole in his hat had come from,” he grins as Phillip shakes his head. His attention returns to the ring, expression softening into something longing and wistful. It was frustrating being kept from the ring, kept from doing what he loved. 

With a slight wheeze edging its way into Phineas’ breath, his shoulders start to droop; as if on cue, Phillip puts a firm guiding hand against the centre of his back. 

“Tea?” he offers, motioning to their office. Phineas nods, smiling a small but grateful smile as Phillip wordlessly lets Phineas lean more heavily against him.

“Thank you,” Phineas breathes as they begin their slow trek towards the office. 

“You don’t have to thank me, just keep getting better,” Phillip murmurs earnestly back, and Phineas smiles, soft and adoring. For Phillip and his circus, he would most certainly try.


End file.
